


Only to Serve

by clearinghouse



Series: King William's Castle [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Class Differences, Established Relationship, Identity Issues, M/M, Priest Lestrade, Prince Mycroft, Religion, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clearinghouse/pseuds/clearinghouse
Summary: In the time after his fall from the throne, but before his reconciliation with his brother, Montgomery struggles to reconcile his role as prince with his want for Lestrade.





	

It was difficult to watch Lord Montgomery be so miserable each day.

No, Father Lestrade thought. This man wasn’t Lord Montgomery. It was someone else, some other persona, who was so often consumed by his ambitions and his ego. The real Lord Montgomery was hiding inside. It was a rare thing for Lestrade to be blessed with that brilliant soul’s company.

The soul surely hid for a very good reason.

Today, however, was too terrible a day to abide by whatever reason that was. As he watched Montgomery storm out of the hallway, furious with the implicit dismissal in the conversations he held with the revered leader of the kingdom, Lestrade knew that he would relieve his precious lord of his distress, if only for the night. Loyally, Lestrade followed his lord without query or complaint, and prayed that the inner Montgomery, if not the outer one, might forgive him.

\--

“You are dismissed, Lestrade.” There was annoyance in Lord Montgomery’s voice when Lestrade followed him into his lavish bedchamber. Montgomery, who was well known for not being fond of repeating himself, did not offer any more explanation, and kept his gaze away from Lestrade, fixed instead on some idea on the wall.

Lestrade swallowed. “Sir…” He wasn’t going to leave, but he wished he were more clever. Maybe then, he could think of the words that would bring Montgomery peace.

“You speak, but have nothing to say.” His lord did not hide his vexation, but whether the emotion was toward Lestrade or toward the king, Lestrade wasn’t sure.

It didn’t matter, anyway. Lestrade couldn’t leave Montgomery in a state like this, so bitter and alone. The priest had to try harder. “My deathless soul is to my Lord who dwells in Heaven,” he tried. “My earthly life is to my lord who dwells on earth.” It was a simple thing to say, perhaps, but Lestrade thought himself to be a simple person. “I am here only to serve you.”

Montgomery hissed softly. “Always others…”

“My lord?”

“You always speak of the concerns of others!” The imposing figure of regality finally turned about and focused all his wondrous might onto Lestrade, almost making the priest flinch a step back. “Does God’s pious chosen have no will of his own?” Montgomery approached, and Lestrade’s heart began to race as Montgomery stared down the shorter man. “Your soul is pitifully small, then.”

Lestrade’s eyes closed at the sharpness of Montgomery’s words. Montgomery was so full of hurt. This sort of thing happened far too often. Lestrade empathized with Mycroft’s pain too much to argue. “Yes, sir,” Lestrade said. “I am here for you.”

Acquiescence only made Montgomery angrier. “Then begone at once!” With the reflex of a threatened animal, Montgomery grabbed Lestrade’s shoulders with a keen desperation, ready to shake him if that’s what it took to make him see the light.

Lestrade gasped, and began to hope.

Realizing his mistake too late, Montgomery froze.

The lord had just touched someone less than a nobleman.

Now was Lestrade’s chance. Without yet breaking the silence that had befallen them, he slowly hugged Montgomery, and tried to hold him close. It had been so long since they had last been this close. Lestrade wanted nothing more than to be in this man’s arms, but more importantly Lestrade had to heal his pain first, and show his lord’s soul that it was safe to come out.

Still, he couldn’t help it that the warmth of Montgomery’s chest was lulling him into his own sweet contentment. After all, he was with the one he loved.

The nobleman breathed quickly, frightfully.

“My lord,” Lestrade whispered. “Would you allow me to serve you?”

“How dare you forget yourself. You are but a priest.” Montgomery’s voice was weak and hollow.

Gradually, very gradually, Lestrade raised his head, and kissed Montgomery’s neck gently. Would the inner Montgomery feel his love from there? Ah, but that was a selfish thought. If the outer Montgomery was the only one that he could reach, that was all right as well. Lestrade would always be here for Montgomery, regardless of his bitterness, regardless of what demons of high-birth possessed this kind and generous man. When Lestrade pulled back, he saw that his earthly master was shedding tears.

“I should not suffer the touch of common folk.” Montgomery was trembling. “I should not want this as I do.”

Lestrade wished terribly that Montgomery would find it in his heart to forgive him later, for certainly each Montgomery would be outraged at this memory—of allowing someone to get this close to him. The priest bent onto his knees, caressing down Montgomery’s finely-clothed stomach as he went, and began to open his lord’s clothing.

“But I must be above this…” Montgomery’s voice was nearly pleading now, and the hands on Lestrade’s shoulders were tight with tension. “I am not above this… Oh, Lestrade, please…” Montgomery grimaced, as in pain. “I wish you hadn’t witnessed the king dismissing me…”

“I know,” Lestrade murmured. “It’s not fair the way he treats you, my lord. I am sorry.” At last, as he knelt, Lestrade brought one of his hands to his master’s growing arousal, and stroked him softly. “Does this feel good?”

There was a hitch in Montgomery’s breathing. “Ah…!” The fists on Lestrade’s shoulders curled desperately, and the priest saw the tall legs before him shake. “Yes, but… I can’t…”

“Please, relax, my lord.” Lestrade held onto Montgomery’s hips and guided him into a rhythm. This was a lot to ask of Montgomery, Lestrade knew, but he wanted so powerfully to relieve Montgomery of his pain and of his worries. If he did this for his beloved, then Montgomery would forget everything else, and then Lestrade could hold him and tell him kind things well into the night. Of course, Lestrade would help him through the difficulty of intimacy and exertion. In deference to their ranks, he respectfully kept his gaze averted from all his lord, and pushed down the heavy feelings stirring his own body.

Montgomery whimpered and bucked involuntarily. His hips were driven by an impulse which came from a deeper part of himself than his donned arrogance and distance. Clearly Montgomery was humiliated.

That touched Lestrade’s sympathy. He tried to be encouraging. “Yes, that’s it, go on…”

Helplessly, Montgomery moved harder, and sobbed.

It was absolutely imperative that Lestrade exhaust his sweet nobleman. “You’re wonderful, please, go on, my lord.” Stubbornly ignoring his own growing desire, Lestrade parted his lips and took his lord’s pain, to ease it with warmth and pleasure inside himself.

Montgomery moaned with overwhelmed pleasure. He was quaking all over and unable to keep himself controlled. “Little whore,” he lashed out breathlessly.

Lestrade kept his eyes closed, to hide his own tears.

“Damn it, I’m sorry…” It was becoming increasingly difficult for Montgomery stand and keep balance, but Lestrade was gave him steady support. “This… oh… this can’t happen…”

For as long as possible, Lestrade kept going.

“Oh, Lestrade, this can’t feel this good…” Montgomery’s angry, fisted hands finally began to try to relax, even while the rest of him tensed. Lestrade wondered whether Montgomery was talking about the feeling of euphoria that Lestrade was giving to him, or the feeling of being this close to the priest. Montgomery struggled to speak. “I’m sorry, I keep hurting you… I am so sorry… you mean so much to me… leave me, you should leave me…”

Lestrade felt a happy rise in his own chest. Though the real Montgomery sometimes hid himself, Lestrade would always be eager to make his beloved, his treasure, feel safe. Newly determined to please his lord, Lestrade moved shamelessly along Montgomery, while he encouraged Montgomery’s hips. The priest felt an obscene euphoria run down his own spine and through his own thighs as Montgomery’s hot ache grew harder and closer to relief.

“Lestrade, please…!” The pained unhappiness in Montgomery’s words was, little by little, giving way to something more urgent and more lovely. “I’m about to…!” Montgomery wept as his anxiety coiled, and in a matter of seconds Lestrade felt Montgomery’s trust drop completely onto Lestrade’s soul. “I’m about to…!”

The affection-filled priest didn’t stop, not until he tasted and was filled with the heat of his beloved, while his own crotch leaked with sympathy inside his cassock.

“Oh! Oh…” Montgomery couldn’t stop himself. He shook with pleasantness and fatigue as his stress drained out of him. “Lestrade…”

Lestrade kept going, loyally and without pause, until at last Montgomery could take no more, and could hardly stand. Then, Lestrade helped him to the bed. He diligently removed most of his lord’s clothing, and draped a robe for modesty about him. His own lust, which had blossomed with the gratification of feeling his beloved’s release, simmered down into a warm feeling of tenderness. “Rest,” Lestrade bade his lord.

Montgomery breathed deeply and slowly. He melted into Lestrade, which kept Lestrade pinned to Montgomery’s side. “All right,” he obeyed. He sighed freely, without a drop of tension or pretense remaining. “Thank you.”

Lestrade beamed widely. He had succeeded!

He had worn out Montgomery, draining him of the energy that the nobleman relied upon to defend himself with, leaving only the true, gentle, undefended individual behind. Here, finally, was his free and beloved Montgomery, the one who did not argue or scheme, the one who was so brilliant and yet so kind, the one who allowed for compassion and love, and who couldn’t be bothered to pretend he was anything else.

This Montgomery was also the one who was horribly ashamed of his own existence, who was scarred by the belief that he was a failure. This fact was clear as day in the sadness and self-loathing on Montgomery’s fine features. “Will you ever forgive me for hurting you?”

“Sh,” Lestrade whispered. While Montgomery was in this powerless state, Lestrade would be even more careful to console him. “Please, let all your troubles fly away. Exist only here, on this bed. Remember only that our Lord in Heaven created us as we are, and loves us as we are,” Lestrade said as he comfortingly combed Montgomery’s hair and massaged his scalp. “We are all made to be holy and beautiful.”

His sweet, lovely Montgomery opened his tired eyes enough to gaze upon his caretaker, in the same way that a devotee might gaze upon his deity. “Lestrade…”

“Sh, it’s all right.” Lestrade did not believe that he could deserve such worship. After all, he only wanted to serve his lord well. The knowledge that he had done so, and the gift of being able to rock his lord to sleep, were more satisfying than the riches of all the ancient emperors. “Be at leisure, my lord. It is only the two of us here. You are safe here.” Lestrade kissed his kindhearted Montgomery on the man’s forehead. “You will always have God’s love.”

“Will I always have yours?” Montgomery curled further into him. “I love you.”

Lestrade was overfull of fondness to hear that. Even so, Montgomery seemed upset with himself for having said such a thing, so Lestrade comforted him to appease any distress that might be inflicted upon his lord for fostering such a sentiment. “That is very sweet of you to say, my lord. Yes, you will always have my love, too.” At the very least, Lestrade had freed Montgomery of his nobleman’s concerns for the night. They could be together, for now, until Montgomery regained his energy and his hard veneer that protected him from the vicious world of royalty, and from the pain of the loneliness that he had been taught to carry with pride.

Montgomery asked, “Always?”

Lestrade smiled brightly, and without hesitation. He covered Montgomery’s hand with his own, and held it securely. He felt his own spirit grow beyond its mortal cage when Montgomery smiled back up to him. “Yes, my lord, always.”

\--

His dear Lestrade could never know the depth of his lord’s gratitude.

Montgomery, in the middle of the night, basked in the arms of his priest around him, shielding him and nurturing him in the sanctity of his bed. Lestrade had an adorable snore, like that of a puppy. Montgomery had been woken by the troubles of some of his dreams, so it was only natural that he wanted to stay up and listen to the sound of Lestrade asleep and at peace.

Montgomery did not wish to return to his own world yet. He wanted to stay in this one, with Lestrade, for as long as possible, even if this one was the more shameful. No, he would not allow his mind to stir and recall the pain of such matters. He kept his half-awake attention on Lestrade’s warmth, and on his own tentative hand, sliding up Lestrade’s side in a crude attempt to comfort him.

Lestrade continued to sleep.

Montgomery was astounded by this man. Here was Montgomery, who couldn’t even keep a night’s rest after being loved so well, while Lestrade, who had been denied such attention himself, was perfectly content to stay in slumber. It gave Montgomery a feeling of security to be with him, a hope that Lestrade might shine some of his stable contentedness over his lord.

Lestrade hadn’t even removed his cassock before falling asleep. He had been too worried about his petulant lord to care.

With the diligence of a servant, Montgomery gently turned Lestrade onto his back and began opening the buttons down the front of the heavy clothes.

Such actions had little effect on Lestrade, who calmly snored away and curled his arms.

It made Montgomery so happy to do even this little thing for Lestrade. Though he did not always say so out loud, Montgomery always noticed how eager Lestrade was to serve others. It probably led some of his church-goers to believe that he had no desires of his own. Lestrade asked for so very little that it was possible he simply didn’t desire very much. Montgomery, however, with all the dispassionate powers of his intellect, had logically reasoned that the opposite was true.

The cassock came apart, revealing the shorts, shirt, and socks underneath. Lestrade unconsciously turned onto his side again, without so much as a blink.

“I love you,” Montgomery whispered, but was bothered by the way the sharpness of his own voice cut the restful silence. He removed the cassock from the bed and from Lestrade’s body, brought the blanket up to the height of their chests, put his palm on Lestrade’s shoulder, and caressed along his beloved up to the base of his neck. Montgomery knew, at least on a rational level, what it was that Lestrade wanted most of all, but the very thought of it made him burn with an angry pain that made Montgomery want to kick down the palace walls.

Lestrade unconsciously clutched the blanket, and cuddled with it in an inexplicably tender way.

_It’s me he wants_ , Montgomery thought.

Out of Lestrade came some mumbled sounds. They were not words, but they sounded like a question.

Montgomery considered him with a loving curiosity. The nobleman hoped that whatever dream Lestrade he was having, it was a nice one. “Sh,” he assured as softly as he could manage. “Sleep well for me.” He sleepily hugged Lestrade, and rested against his back.

His sweet, compliant Lestrade was calm and quiet again.

Montgomery closed his eyes and continued to listen.

\--

Lestrade knew something was amiss the next morning. It was, of course, no surprise that Montgomery was already gone by the time Lestrade woke up. However, there was something which was new. On the desk beside the bed, there was a single note, asking that Lestrade ready himself and make his way to the rear courtyard posthaste.

He rose to get dressed, but his cassock was gone. He didn’t even remember removing his cassock. Instead, there were some plain-looking peasant clothes set out for him. It was a step down from priesthood, perhaps, but not by much, and in any event Lestrade was only too willing to satisfy any and all of his lord’s whims, including this.

He threw the clothes on, quickly washed himself in the bathroom, and hurried through the palace that was crisply lighted by the dawn. In a short matter of time he found himself at the rear courtyard and hardly remembered how he got there. He only knew that it was imperative that he find Montgomery, the one he loved deeply and who had never made a request like this before.

There was only one another person, standing idly around hedges decorated by beds of flowers. He was leaning on an umbrella, and appeared as handsome as ever, though today he seemed like a merchant about to head out to town.

Lestrade asked breathlessly, “My lord?”

“Lord Montgomery is not here,” the man replied distractedly. “He sent me to keep you company in his place.”

The last thing Lestrade wanted to do was argue with his master, but he was utterly befuddled. “I beg your pardon?”

“He knows that you deserve a more suitable companion than he,” the man said, and at last turned to face Lestrade. This was certainly Lord Montgomery standing before the priest, but he seemed different, somehow, perhaps younger. “Please, call me Mycroft.”

Lestrade bit his lip. “Are you not my lord?”

“Ah, yes, now you are beginning to understand!” Mycroft approached respectfully, with his umbrella, which was made of wood and a closed black canopy, in tow. “Forgive me for the oddity,” he remarked off-handedly about the umbrella. “I’m afraid I’d be lost without it.”

The poor priest had absolutely no idea what was going on, and it showed.

“Come. Now that we’re in the proper attire, let’s leave this dreadful place.” Mycroft took his hand, and that was when Lestrade at last understood why they were dressed in this manner.

His lord wanted to play truant today.

Well, he’d never known Lord Montgomery to be fond of the outside world, but as long as Lestrade was by his side to keep him safe, then Lestrade was happy to entertain whatever whimsy came upon his lord.

They walked together, thus disguised, through the rich part of the city, and then through the market, and further still to the sidelong towns. Like a perfect stranger to the local places, Mycroft asked Lestrade about various shops and recreational areas that they passed. However, he seemed to have some familiarity with the geography and older establishments.

Though Mycroft put on a careless facade, Lestrade could see how hard it was for his lord to play this role. In every relaxation of Mycroft’s shoulders, and every merry skip in his step, there was inescapable anxiety and shame. Mycroft did not acknowledge the pain openly, and instead tried to hide it for the sake of his companion, but Lestrade feared that this experience might actually be as painful for his lord as it was pleasant.

So, Lestrade did his best to keep Mycroft distracted. He avoided parts of the city where either of them were likely to be identified, or even any parts where there would be so much as a mention of the palace or the royal family. Lestrade ultimately brought Mycroft to the countryside, to a world where such intricacies had no power. His lord might be free from doubt and self-loathing here.

They spent the entire day exploring together. Lestrade found the most quaint and understated places at which to dine. It was astounding when he was compelled to help Mycroft, a man accustomed to having a feast of someone else’s design brought to him, choose which things to eat. Mycroft was charmed by the plainer-looking meals that he was served, and profusely complimented those who served him. There was a personal element to this experience, Lestrade mused, that Lestrade himself was no stranger to, but apparently it was unfamiliar to his lord.

This happened also when they went browsing through different shops. Mycroft would see a fine work of pottery, or a hand-made sword, and ask for their makers so that he might show his appreciation to the craftspeople and ask them about their art. Mycroft would discuss obscure topics with them, which often delighted the person he was conversing with. Interestingly, if ever the person accused Mycroft of some incorrectness, Mycroft completely allowed it, out of both kindness and laziness. He was a very different man from Lord Montgomery. His company was certainly no less cherished by the priest.

Maybe it was the simple nature of things that appealed to Mycroft here, Lestrade wondered, or the rewarding nature of the work of these people. He himself was only a simple priest, though, not a member of royalty, so he could not say for sure what it was that was so freeing to Mycroft. It hardly mattered anyway, Lestrade thought happily, as long as he was free.

At the end of the day, it was actually Mycroft who brought Lestrade to an out-of-the-way grotto. It was half-mountain, half-cave, and felt comfortably isolated. Lestrade, who left the palace far more frequently than his lord, was pleased to discover that there was such a nice and secluded place this close to a countryside settlement. There did seem to be evidence of childish drawings chalked onto some of the rocks, though, but at least they were nice-looking, if rather indecipherable…

Mycroft drew close to Lestrade and reached to caress his face and neck, but then flinched back. “Is this right, what I’ve done today, what I’m doing?”

Lestrade grimaced. It went against his entire being to see his lord in such distress. All he wanted to give all Mycroft all the praise and reassurance that he ever wanted.

“You are…” Mycroft struggled with his words, and, it seemed also to Lestrade, against an internal inclination to deny himself his need for physical and emotional contact. “To me, you mean a great deal…”

“There’s no need to try so hard.” Lestrade embraced Mycroft, and pulled him down to the grass, keeping him there. The umbrella fell to the side of the two men.

Mycroft was such a man of patterns and otherworldly abstraction, but Lestrade was a man rooted to the ground. It was here that he could, at least temporarily, secure and reassure his sky-bound lord. The hug between them was warm, and true, and without time.

“Blessed are the gentle, for they shall inherit the earth,” Lestrade heard himself say abruptly. He held Mycroft’s hair, and his back. He breathed in his companion’s familiar scent. He thought he felt Mycroft do the same. “It is all right,” he said cautiously, “to be a gentle, nonviolent soul.”

Thank goodness for Mycroft’s languor. He was too kind and gentle to even be agitated or angry. Instead, he merely grew sad.

“Please, be happy that you are gentle! God loves his peaceful children, and he thinks no less of those who do not take the sword. Please, continue to be gentle.”

Mycroft held onto Lestrade’s shoulders tightly. “Do you think less of me for it?” He sounded so terribly vulnerable. “You don’t think me a coward?”

It was good, then, that God’s missionary would always protect this soul. “I think the world of you.” All Lestrade’s affection for his lord was in the smile that he wore for his beloved as he tenderly laid Mycroft down along the grass, and kissed along his chest. He needed so terribly to show his lord how in love he was with him. “Mycroft…” He stroked down Mycroft’s side, and traced the top line of his trousers.

“No, wait. This isn’t how it was supposed to be!” Mycroft frowned at the situation he saw himself to be in, yet didn’t move from where Lestrade had settled him. “I was sent to you, to keep you company, to gratify you!”

“And you have,” Lestrade murmured delicately. “You always have, my lord.” He winced at the slip of title, and hoped to recompense for it by rolling up Mycroft’s shirt and kissing his stomach.

His kind Mycroft was trembling. “It can’t always be about what I want. What do you want? There must be something you want, something I can give you?”

“I had the most wonderful time with you today.” Lestrade carefully thumbed his lord’s chest, and listened to Mycroft’s eager and ashamed gasp. The priest pulled down articles of clothing, and gazed with lidded eyes upon the half-hard interest in front of him. “Is this all right?”

“But what about you? Yes, anything from you is welcome, but what about you?”

Lestrade let his smile be the answer. With one hand pinning Mycroft’s hips down, he took the revealed length inside his mouth.

Mycroft moaned prettily. Lestrade felt a hand grab onto his arm ever so softly.

With Montgomery, Lestrade had sought to hasten their intimacy, so as to sooner exhaust his lord. With Mycroft, Lestrade decided to proceed slowly, so that Mycroft might be made to receive the most satisfaction. He kept the pace relaxed and easy.

“Oh, Lestrade, please…” Mycroft was blushing intensely, and trembled with a burning need. “Lestrade… I’m sorry…”

Lestrade let his own fingers press harder into Mycroft’s chest.

Mycroft gasped, and his head arched back. Unlike that of Lord Montgomery, Mycroft’s voice was always small and kind. “Oh… Please, please don’t stop…” A wet taste began to coat Lestrade’s tongue.

Never before had Lestrade been so excited, in body and in soul. He knew that Mycroft might be gone from him in the morning, but that was all right. Lestrade had been given this gift of endless love. Mycroft and Lord Montgomery were, after all, the same man, a single, intricate package, that gave Lestrade more meaning and more joy than he had ever known.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry for everything…” Mycroft murmured with such kindness. Lestrade felt him shudder and grow more aroused. “I love you, please…”

The priest bounced his head more passionately, and kept Mycroft’s modest legs parted as he licked and eased his soreness in the most indecent of places.

Mycroft whimpered, allowing his priest to do whatever he wished. He continued to whisper his apologies and profess his feelings.

For as long as he could, Lestrade kept his precious love satisfied. The wet sound of him moving slowly along Mycroft’s aching member was strangely soothing to his own ears. He was so glad to be here with him, to share this intimacy with the dearest person to him.

“Oh God, I need you so much,” Mycroft sobbed. “Please, I beg you, please…”

A twinge of guilt hurt Lestrade’s heart. By drawing things out, had he reduced his great lord to begging? Then he would wait no longer. He moved up and down deeply, urgently, caressing shaking thighs as he went.

Almost immediately, Mycroft whined with pleasure, and his release was hot and desperate inside Lestrade. It was a wonderful feeling that submerged Lestrade’s soul. Hoping to secure his lord’s forgiveness, Lestrade took to cleaning Mycroft with his mouth.

However, he was soon pulled away, to hover face-to-face over his beloved. “Do I not,” Mycroft, fatigued and red-faced, breathed, “appeal to you?”

“Of course you are appealing.”

“But to you? Or is God’s man too far above me?” The words were frighteningly sincere.

Worried, Lestrade waved his hands to and fro. “No, no, not at all!” It felt wrong to admit this, in this context, but out of sympathy, he couldn’t deny it. “You, you appeal to me, very much—”

Still mildly panting for air, Mycroft reached for Lestrade’s clothes. Hesitantly, he touched Lestrade’s waist underneath his shirt, and looked up for approval.

Lestrade wanted to cry with affection. His lord was such a gentle creature. Lestrade was already so excited by Mycroft’s small initiative that the simple caress set Lestrade aflame with lust. He groaned aloud.

Mycroft was startled, and briefly considered the reaction of his priest.

Had Lestrade offended his lord by expressing his desire? “My apologies—”

With a tentatively gleaming light in his eyes, Mycroft slipped his hand into Lestrade’s trousers and felt what was there.

Lestrade whimpered at the unintentional teasing, and at the strangely delicious sensation of shame at feeling his lord handle him this way. He was now on his knees and elbows above Mycroft’s body.

“Is this all right?” Mycroft asked. With a look of growing confidence, Mycroft stroked him in a novice manner.

“Oh, yes…” Lestrade became very warm, very quickly. For the most fleeting of moments, Lestrade asked himself if such an overly unfamiliar manner of lovemaking from Mycroft suggested that his lord had never even done this to himself. Before he could think on it more, Mycroft’s warm hand rather recklessly explored the ache between Lestrade’s legs, and Lestrade winced helplessly at such intimate curiosity.

Mycroft was again startled. “Ah?”

“Sorry,” Lestrade gasped. It was clear to him that he wanted his lord too much to properly control himself, but he did keep his lips tight, in an effort to keep his voice in check.

Mycroft was at a loss for how to respond. “You feel nice,” he encouraged awkwardly.

Abruptly driven mad by the feelings growing deep in the pit of his core, Lestrade laughed at the naive-sounding statement. Encouragement? Lestrade needed no encouragement!

His delight was infectious. Mycroft giggled a little himself.

Then, Lestrade moaned too loudly, as the hand on him increased its pressure. “Oh, oh that’s… good…” He bowed his head beside Mycroft’s, and managed to will himself to be patient as he endured Mycroft’s thrillingly gentle caresses.

“I need to say this as many times as I can tonight,” Mycroft whispered. “I love you, Lestrade. I love you.”

It was miraculous that Lestrade’s growing soul could fit in his earthly body. “I promise to always be loyal to you.” Even when Mycroft was sharing so many beautiful emotions with him, though, Lestrade wanted so terribly to finish himself off. He fantasized about jerking his hips desperately into Mycroft’s hand. “You feel so good,” he moaned. He longed for Mycroft, and yet he never wanted this to end. He wanted to always be under Mycroft’s influence like this.

Mycroft sounded relieved. “Then, could we… kiss, while we…?”

Holy saints might as well have asked him whether he wanted to enter the gates of Heaven. Lestrade grasped Mycroft’s head and shoulder, and, moving far more quickly than he ought to, kissed him.

His lovely Mycroft didn’t seem to mind. He sweetly returned the kiss.

Lestrade was so filled with belonging and desire that tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. He was so happy. This nobleman was his paradise.

In the end, it was Mycroft’s fond fingers on Lestrade’s brow, and Mycroft’s thoughtful whisper, that finally undid him. “Please, would you come for me?”

Lestrade cried out at the soft request, and instantly climaxed into Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft stroked the remaining tension out of him, and he all but collapsed onto Mycroft. He appreciated Mycroft’s arms around him.

They stayed for a while longer. As the sky began to darken, however, they both knew their time was running short.

Lestrade didn’t know exactly what it was that caused his lord such daily distress and shame, but, even if he needed to find help from outside the castle to do so, he would find a way to return Mycroft to the brilliant and kind man he was always meant to be. He would even restore the love in Mycroft’s family if he could. In the meantime, though, Lestrade would do his part and simply watch over him.

As the sun began to fade, Lestrade put his own clothes back in order, and reassembled Mycroft’s. “Let me take you home,” he said. He helped up his weary Mycroft, returned his umbrella to him, and took his arm in his own. This time, he led his companion through the town, and delighted in the manner with which Mycroft quietly leaned against him as they walked together.

End.


End file.
